The Unsinkable Poppy Potter
by Amy0Veronica
Summary: Poppy Potter was raised by the TV and grew up running from her whale of a cousin. Among her early achievements: slipping extra oil into Vernon and Dudley's food in an attempt to send them to an early grave and growing her trafficking of stolen goods and racketeering business. Was it any wonder she didn't turn out to be the the type of Girl-Who-Lived that the people wanted?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 **The Unsinkable Poppy Potter**

"Your daughter is a remarkable young woman Mrs Dursley," the teacher gushed, her face earnest with the passion of a recently graduated teacher.

"She isn't my daughter, she is my sister's daughter," Mrs Dursley replied, her knuckles white as she gripped the strap of her handbag, her face set in a tight pinch.

The teacher nodded slightly, seemingly unsure of how to respond to that comment. "As I was saying, she is remarkable, she is very smart – and yet her social skills are inadequate for her age."

"Inadequate?" Mrs Dursley asked sharply, her lips turning white.

"Indeed, it limits her with both peers and adults –"

"This is not a deficit in social skills; she is a wicked and disobedient child! Vernon wants to send her to a military school to give her some proper routine and _discipline_. Honestly this school is far too lax on misbehaviour. It puts well behaved and innocent children like my Dudley at risk!" Mrs Dursley snapped, the strap of her handbag pulled taught between her hands.

The teacher rushed to soothe Mrs Dursley, but couldn't quite keep the shock from her voice, "Now Mrs Dursley I understand your frustrations; she is irreverent at the best of times, but I don't believe it's maliciously intended but rather a lack of understanding and empathy of other's needs and feelings. This is good news-"

"Good news?" Mrs Dursley breathed, the naturally hoarse quality of her voice becoming more pronounced. Mrs Dursley's sense of horror moved her from her seat, the strap of her bag held in front of her as if to fend off the positively culpable opinions of the teacher. "I'll not hear any more of this nonsense!" Mrs Dursley spat as she turned on her heel and stalked from the meeting room.

The teacher lunged forward – unable to comprehend how the conversation had deteriorated so quickly – in an attempt to salvage the meeting and set the miscommunication straight. "What I meant is that it's something that can be worked on and improved!"

Mrs Dursley whipped around as she reached the door, looking at the teacher as if she was something unpleasant. "Your _wonderful_ establishment has not improved her in the least, in fact, she becomes more horrible by the day!" and with that parting comment Mrs Dursley left down the hallway with a sharp clack of heels, eternally gladdened that they had decided to send Dudley to a private primary school and not the poor excuse of education this establishment provided.

When Mrs Dursley made it home from the parent teacher interviews which were incomprehensibly more infuriating and frustrating than she could have ever foreseen, she took her anger out on the focus of the night's spectacle.

 _Poppy Potter_ , her sister's daughter.

"Get to your room!" she snapped at the small slip of a girl who was standing on a foot stool finishing up with the dishes.

Poppy looked over her shoulder and then back to the five remaining dishes that still needed to be dried. She obeyed when the Dursley matriarch said, "now!" in a short sharp whisper that promised the strap or a mouthful of curry powder if she continued to tarry.

As Poppy moved on quick feet towards the cupboard under the stairs, she got a smack on the bottom on the way past. It had been a while since she'd seen Petunia so incensed; usually it was Vernon who dolled out the more punitive corporal punishments.

Petunia was the inventor of the more imaginative forms of punishment, which were usually more psychological in nature; the flavour of the month, per say, was the mouthful of curry or soap. Depending on Petunia's mood, Poppy would be sent to sit in the hutch in the garage for hours with her taste buds burning from the curry powder – feeling like she would scratch her eyes out for a glass of water – or with the sickly yet tacky taste of lavender soap making her feel like she would choke.

Despite the burst of fear, Poppy made sure to shut the door to under the cupboard gently. Petunia didn't like the slamming of doors and Poppy preferred to show her displeasure in less obvious ways.

Poppy was lulled to sleep by the heated discussion between Vernon and Petunia about the sheer inadequacies of her primary school, their relief that their precious Duddleykins attended a superior private school and the indomitable frustrations and inconvenience caused by the burden that was Poppy Potter.

* * *

Poppy was awoken by the sharp kick of a foot to the door of the cupboard under the stairs, and so started her morning.

Without delay Poppy grasped her taped together old-man glasses that had been brought for her from a thrift shop when the teachers had continually written letters home. They were most likely not the correct prescription from the way that they strained her eyes, but they improved her ability to see well enough.

Poppy gathered her unruly and untameable aurburn hair into a tie and changed into Duddlekin's second hand clothes, which were so big that she had to harness herself into them with two belts.

Poppy didn''t enjoy the weekends; at least on school days she was required to wear a second hand uniform that fit her much better and which she didn't have to constantly hitch up.

She also got a reprieve from the Dursley's.

Poppy wasn't sure how she came to be with the Dursley's – they made it clear enough that a spawn of Satan such as herself was from neither of their loins – but believed that it had something to do with her 'freakish' parents who were constantly mentioned by Vernon and Petunia for their weird, unnatural traits and way of life before they died.

Poppy held the belief that anyone the Dursley's thought ill of were probably stand-up citizens – but she couldn't quite come to terms with the poor judgement her parents would have had to place her with the Dursley's, unless her parents thought the Dursley's were great.

Because of this Poppy grew up with a large dose of scepticism as to the kind of people her parents could have been.

Poppy commenced making breakfast for Vernon whilst he prepared for his day. When he entered the kitchen and started reading the paper she piled a large portion of eggs and bacon on his plate. Poppy shot a glance to Petunia to check if she had noticed how oily Vernon's breakfast was. Petunia was enforcing a diet regime on the house, which was meant to target the large elephants in the room, but had resulted in further whittling down Poppy's own already slim portions also.

Petunia had given her the idea when she started parroting about the doctors concerns about Vernon's and Dudley's weight being a significant risk to their health. She had succinctly heard that if Vernon continued eating the way he was he would be sent to an early grave, followed by their very own Duddlekins. Poppy took it upon herself to help enact this outcome. She had heard from a cooking show once that there were a lot of things called 'hidden calories' in oil and that they at times caused the downfall of even the best laid diet plans.

Vernon was having his morning grumble to Petunia about the state of affairs of the world, usually raised by certain news clippings in the paper. This morning's was one of his favourites – how hard working tax payers such as himself had to constantly keep the 'no-good layabouts' in a level of opulence that he found positively disgraceful.

"Poppy once you have cleaned the breakfast dishes I don't want to see you until the garden looks perfect, do you understand?" Petunia asked.

Poppy said that she understood and finished up the dishes as quickly as possible, as she never liked hearing Vernon's pugnacious tone of voice for long periods of time.

* * *

Poppy started with the weeding and had almost completed the front garden when Dudley strolled outside with two of his friends. "Looks like you missed a spot," Dudley kicked the bin she had put the weeds in, scattering them over the lawn.

Poppy couldn't help the words that practically escaped from her mouth, "Looks like you're as dumb as your report cards said."

Dudley missed what people commonly described as a 'beat', where she could almost see the acorn in his head furiously processing her words to find the insult that would surely be there. Bingo, the processing ended, the light went on and he lunged, his friends following his lead. Poppy was already up and running down the street with practiced speed.

She kept her feet moving to a pounding rhythm. Dudley was slowly but surely getting beefier with every extra extra serving of Poppy's oily cooking, but he wasn't yet so big that him and his friends didn't put up a good chase. Poppy looked forward to the day when he ate himself into immobilisation and made a mental note to use even more oil, butter and cream when cooking, against Petunia's orders, to help him reach that stage quicker.

For how much she disliked Dudley the bloodhound, he at times played an important role in the ecosystem of the household. He would attempt to insult her and she would insult him back, which resulted in him attempting to beat her; the result on her part was always an attempt to avoid or escape.

She found that she didn't so much mind running from Dudley and his entourage of ill mannered friends. In fact, it was sometimes the highlight of her day if she was toiling on mind meltingly tedious chores. Escaping Dudley sometimes felt like she was escaping the prison fortress of the Dursley household itself, if only for a little while.

So it was a predictably common Saturday afternoon sight for the neighbours, the slight red headed girl with the comically too large clothes running as if she were truly attempting to out race mortal peril, at times having to awkwardly retrieve her dragging pants by the belt and hoist them up all the while attempting to not miss a step, with three less graceful figures lumbering in a line behind her.

Until Poppy made a fatal error as she was sprinting across a pedestrian crossing. She had briefly checked the road but as she had the right of way she didn't look too closely.

The boys laboured to a screeching halt as a car came zooming out of what seemed like no-where and hit Poppy head on. Poppy rolled off the bonnet and to the side, her head hitting the pavement with a dull thunk, the world around her disappearing.

The car slowed, the driver looking on in abject horror before he pealed away in a squeal of tyres. The boys stood frozen for an immeasurable length of time, shock in their countenances.

They were the only witnesses to the event, as the crossing where she had been hit lead to Poppy's school, which held a number of empty blocks around it. She usually tried to lose them there as Dudley hated running through the long grass and usually gave up sooner rather than later.

Poppy lay unmoving, blood starting to pool on the pavement from what looked like a gaping head wound.

* * *

Poppy awoke to the strange view of Dudley and his two friends standing over her, blocking out the sun. She hadn't fully understood why the three were so shaken and when she had got home and Dudley had told his parents what had happened she had been penned in the cupboard under the stairs and told it was to teach her a lesson to not use her freakish abilities in front of Dudley. From her eaves dropping they thought she had used her freakishness to heal her head wound.

Life perpetuated and the Dursley household returned to its adulated normality. Poppy continued on with the less prosperous and altogether esteemed commerce of fencing Dudley's belongings. It was not very lucrative, what with the slow and precise pace she had to work at to ensure Dudley didn't cotton on, and perhaps the even tougher task of finding appropriate buyers in a primary school setting. She didn't know how many times she had told Susie that she wouldn't take cookies as payment for the recent release of Super Mario Bros – as it was a particularly high risk steal, having only been in Dudley's possession circa eight months.

For some reason the teachers in the school system frowned upon her selling 'her' belongings and said that if it continued they would have to notify her parents, as it created interesting predicaments that the teachers didn't want to deal with. Namely Susie regretting her choice of forgoing the money for her canteen order for a figurine of GI Joe. When Poppy refused to renege on the purchase, Susie had ran crying to the teachers because she needed to feed her chubby face with pie. Poppy had been told that she had to return the money to Susie and once Susie brought her pie and the teachers had dispersed – crocodile tears still leaking from her eyes – Poppy had shoved Susie's face in her pie and told her that if she were to ever tattle again she would get a taste of toilet water next.

For Poppy it had been a very valuable lesson; just as Mrs Figg had many different types and colours of cats all with horribly picky eating habits, there were many different types of people, all motivated by different things. Looking back on her actions – and not in the way the teachers had expected her to – she realised that she had believed Susie to have a small measure of intelligence and thus a fear of retribution. Poppy came to understand that someone like Susie would not be motivated by bullying or threats, not when she had unfailing belief in the power of teachers. To beat a nemesis like Susie, Poppy had to tackle the problem in a different way.

Despite these life lessons and the intention to find an alternative way to motivate the conundrum called Susie, it had become progressively harder to fence objects when she had to be increasingly sly about it and only proposition students who wouldn't blab to the teachers. The pool of opportunity slimmed and Poppy found herself thinking of other commerce ventures.

As Poppy grew she came to understand something very important about herself. Her teachers often spoke of talents and attempted to nurture talents in the altogether talentless pool of children that surrounded her every day. Sure Gregory could run fast in the relay, but what was the point of swiftness if he didn't use the talent for anything other than impressing teachers in school – the laughable parody of the real world, supposedly set up to assist children to learn the life skills to succeed in the much less supportive reality.

Poppy found an unexpected talent – unusual in that it did not seem to fit in with the usual talents that the teachers talked about at school; in fact, when Poppy had tried to tell the class during show and tell about her talents, the teacher had gotten cross and said that show and tell was for events that had actually occurred and that she could keep her flair for story telling for their end of year creative piece.

Poppy had come to school prepared with a piece of crumpled butcher paper with a diagram of the events that had transpired when she had turned one of Mrs Figgs cats into a cat statue, similar indeed to a garden gnome, until Vernon had accidentally smashed it with an unskilled automobile reverse on his way to work one day.

"You see I didn't set out to create a garden ornament, but it's what unexpectedly happened one day when I was set the tedious task of weeding. My neighbour Mrs Figg, who is also my babysitter when the Dursley's go out for events too special for me, has a large collection of cats.

I was trying to get the weeding done within the specified time frame so I didn't get in trouble for starting dinner too late when one of Mrs Figg's cats – a black one I can't remember the name of – kept getting in the way of my weeding, acting in a way that Mrs Figg describes as wanting affection.

When Mrs Figg babysits me I usually try to indulge her assertions that the cats require human affection, despite what I've learnt off National Geographic that felines prefer affection exclusively from their own pride, as she takes their emotional welfare very seriously, but Mrs Fig wasn't present at the time.

I remembered thinking to myself, if only the cat would just freeze and act like a garden gnome. And it _did_ , even with an impressive glossy finish. I moved it to the front garden bed so that I could continue my weeding, which was admittedly a mistake; it seemed that this was too close to Vernon's reverse arch and the cat ornament shattered. Otherwise I would have brought it in for the show part of show and tell," Poppy said, holding out the diagram with flourish to the class. The class sat in silence, many of the students with odd expressions on their faces, many of which looked similar to Dudley's grimaces when constipated from eating too much cheese. Poppy added, "Are there any questions?" That's when the teacher stepped in.

The cat gnome incident was not an isolated event; as expected, Poppy turned the use of her limited recreation time into further developing her talents for the unusual. After the teacher and classes' reaction to her choice of show and tell, Poppy decided to not share her unusual talents with others.

* * *

Let me know what you think! Is it good enough to continue? :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 **Growing Pains**

It was with the tacky and horrible taste of lavender soap in her mouth and a bruised eye that Poppy stood at the pay phone down the road. It was the day after her tenth birthday and she had been given a birthday punch from Dudley.

"Yes, my name is Mrs Arabella Figg. I'm calling to report an instance of child abuse."

Poppy had come across the rather ingenious idea from Kelly Smith at school, who seemed all too sad to have been removed from her parents by Child Protection and placed in foster care. Kelly told Poppy how her parents had to jump through hoops like Labradors in a dog show to show Child Protection they were fit to care for Kelly.

Poppy wasn't so interested in diverting one miserable prison for another, as she was embarrassing the Dursley's and forcing them to treat her better – and maybe giving her Duddlekins second room.

It was four days later when Child Protection made the unscheduled house visit. As always Poppy answered the door, the bruise around her eye faded but still visible, swamped in her clothes and wearing her old man glasses.

"Hello, my name is Angela Radford and this is my colleague Joan Gallagher, we are from Child Protection. Are your parents here?" one of the two homely looking women asked, eyeing her appearance.

"Yes, come in, I will get my aunt for you," Poppy smiled politely, letting the two women into the house.

Poppy walked down the hall leisurely to the kitchen where Petunia was making cookies. "I accidently smashed the vase in the lounge room," Poppy interrupted, a look of remorse and fear on her face.

Petunia looked up, her nostrils flaring, "You horrible child, get to the cupboard!" Petunia grabbed the cord from the kettle and gave her a sharp wrap across her back, the material of her baggy clothes muffling the pain somewhat. Poppy knew from experience that when it was on bare skin it hurt a lot worse. "Get! Now, there will be no dinner for you!"

"Oh and there are two women here from Child Protection, I let them into the hallway," Poppy said as if remembering suddenly, with a coy smirk, before running down the hall. She ran to the cupboard underneath the stairs as the ladies watched.

Petunia rushed after her, halting the closing of the cupboard door.

"Poppy what are you doing playing in there again?" she asked in mortification, before looking up to the women, "hello, my name is Petunia Dursley, how can I help you?"

They introduced themselves to Petunia before requesting to talk to both her and Poppy Potter.

They talked to Poppy separately from Petunia.

"Poppy we have received a report from a concerned member of the community about you and it is out job to investigate it. We do that by talking to you and other people that are in your life to get a picture of what is going on," Angela introduced gently, as if Poppy had no idea what was going on.

"We received some concerning information that you have been hit on multiple occasions and that you sleep in the cupboard under the stairs," Joan elaborated.

Poppy watched the two women with wide eyes, noticing Petunia watching through a crack in the lounge room door looking severe.

"Well I do sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, but what is so unusual about that? After all, my cousin Dudley needs two bedrooms to store his toys," Poppy said innocently. "I'm just thankful my aunt and uncle provide me with a roof over my head and an area for privacy, if I sleep in the right position, I can fit my legs in the cupboard easily."

Joan shot Angela a look. "Could you show us this cupboard?"

Poppy nodded in ascent and lead the women to the cupboard, Petunia hovering nervously in the background.

"She has only recently slept there as we were completing renovations on her room. She decided she would rather sleep here than on the mattress we set up for her in the lounge room," Petunia said defensively as Poppy opened the door to the cupboard, shooting a look of wide eyed confusion at Petunia.

"Oh how lovely, you didn't tell me you were going to surprise me with Dudley's second room!" Poppy said excitedly, jumping up and down as Joan uncapped a camera and started taking photos of the cupboard, to Petunias horror.

"Why are you taking photos?" Petunia asked.

"This is an investigation and it is concerning indeed that Poppy sleeps in such conditions. We would like to see her cousin's two bedrooms too before we leave," Joan said with severity.

When they were sitting down again, Joan continued with her questioning. "I notice you have a bruise around your eye Poppy, could you tell me how you got it?"

"I'm sorry but I don't want anyone to get in trouble," Poppy whispered, ensuring she looked satisfactorily down trodden.

Joan lowered her voice and spoke kindly, "Poppy we can't help you if you don't tell us who did this to you."

Poppy bit her lip, "I fell and hit my cheek bone on the tap outside when I was weeding."

Joan's lips tightened, displeasure setting into her countenance. Angela looked deflated.

Joan pushed forward, "Poppy we received a report that stated that they believed you obtained that bruise from a member of your family. We can't protect you unless you tell us the truth."

Poppy watched the two women with her lip trembling, eyes watery, "it was the tap, I'm very clumsy."

After that Angela and Joan took a look at Dudley's two rooms, taking more photos.

"As part of our investigation we obtain information from a range of sources. We may contact the school and other professionals that have had contact with Poppy. In the mean time please ensure that the room's renovations are completed as soon as possible. We will be back to check in another unscheduled home visit," Joan stated at the conclusion of their visit, providing her contact details to Petunia.

When the door had closed Petunia stood still and silent until Joan and Angela had gotten in their car and reversed out of the drive way, as if fearful they would be able to hear from their car.

Once gone Petunia turned so swiftly that Poppy barely refrained from jumping in shock.

"You did this!" Petunia rushed forward, grabbing Poppy's shirt by the neck and shaking her.

"You heard the ladies, they can receive reports from any member of the public. Who have I had the most contact with outside of school?" Poppy asked, hoping to kill two birds with one stone.

Petunia frowned, but still dragged Poppy to the cupboard underneath the stairs, locking her in.

Later when Vernon came home and was filled in on the days events, Poppy saw her plans come to fruition.

"I don't understand how Mrs Figg could have found out about the cupboard under the stairs unless that ungrateful girl told her!" Petunia hissed.

Poppy was dragged out of the cupboard under the stairs and into the kitchen by a tight lipped Petunia, to see a puce Vernon.

"Girl if I bloody well find out that you talked to the authorities I will belt you from here to next year!" Vernon stood aggressively, his jowls trembling with his rage.

"They asked me who gave me this bruise and I told them that I fell over, but they were ah _reluctant_ to believe that story. The way I see it, the authorities are going to come back and your best chance of avoiding further trouble is to give me Dudley's second bedroom and treat me better, otherwise my story will _change_."

Vernon lunged for me with a roar, barely held back by Petunia, who looked at me with blinking wide eyes as if she couldn't recognise me.

"That's it Petunia, we are getting rid of her! We have taken her in, clothed and fed her and this is how she repays us?! We owe your freakish sister _nothing_!"

Vernon eyed me in fury, "Pack your bags girl, we are dropping you off at the orphanage!"

Petunia spoke softly, her voice hoarse, "Vernon we can't, they wouldn't allow it."

Poppy's ears pricked up, wondering who 'they' were.

"I thought you would come up with such a solution – but you see, such an act would undoubtedly see the front page of a few newspapers. By relinquishing care of me you look guilty, and I would admit abuse which would cause the authorities to bring forward criminal charges, which against a child always meets the headlines… you really only have one choice," Poppy spoke stoically with boredom.

Vernon and Petunia both watched her in shock and barely repressed homicidal anger.

"How about I start cleaning out my new room while you both have a think about the choice you need to make," Poppy smiled beautifully, becoming an image of an innocent child so fully that it seemed to make the Dursley's disconcerted.

As Poppy skipped up the stairs, she heard Petunia sobbing, and the booming words of Vernon, "what did I tell you! I knew we would regret taking the freak in – she is pure evil."

* * *

Life returned to a type of normality in the proceeding months. When the Dursley's realised that Poppy would still continue with her chores, though at a less hectic level, they gave her a wide berth – shooting her glares when her presence was difficult to ignore, such as if she was in the same room as them.

Poppy preferred this existence, and enjoyed having her own space with a bed she could fit into. As a secondary plus, Petunia didn't ask Mrs Figg to babysit anymore, as she still wasn't sure if Poppy had disclosed information to Mrs Figg causing her to report or if it had been Poppy that made the report to Child Protection.

Petunia held a deep dislike for appearing as anything but the perfect family to outsiders so she resorted to cutting contact with Mrs Figg. This also suited Poppy who was allergic to Mrs Figg's many cats and disliked going there.

This initially resulted in Poppy being taken on family functions – to the immense displeasure of the Dursley's. Eventually Petunia realised that Poppy was old enough to amuse herself in their diminutive backyard for hours while they were gone, so if the event was in the day Petunia would lock up the house and leave Poppy to her own devices.

During those times Poppy would go over to Kelly's house – Kelly had recently been returned to her parents – and hung out with Kelly and her older brothers.

Poppy didn't really understand the constitution that was friendship, but Kelly was the least annoying child in her grade and more mature than the others – probably because she had to parent her parents – so she called Kelly her friend.

Kelly's older brothers taught her useful things, things that were applicable in the real world, so Poppy enjoyed going over to their house even if it was a long walk to get there.

"You sure your mum won't mind us using her makeup?" Poppy asked as she smeared the remainder of the black eye shadow on.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure she will be passed out for a few hours, anyway Joey and Dean are using that time to smuggle out the guns they've stored here. If mum got wind that she was unknowingly harbouring arms again she would go through the roof – she got the blame the last time the police raided."

"Why isn't she worried about all the drugs then?" Poppy asked with a frown.

"She thinks she has it all hidden really well, doesn't think the dogs will be able to sniff it out."

Joey barged into the room. "Hey girls, want the chance to earn a few pounds?"

Kelly raised her sketchily drawn eyebrows at her brother, "Now Joey you know you will have to pay us more than a few pounds, our time and the risk to our pristine criminal records are worth more than that."

Joey sighed, but seemed to have expected it, "we want you to be look outs while we run some business," he said.

"We want a hundred each," Kelly said.

Joey's eyebrows raised in a comical rendition of Kelly's earlier expression, "Twenty."

"Seventy," Kelly sneered, "and that's the lowest we will go."

Joey cracked a grin, ruffling Kelly's hair, "you drive a hard bargain sis. Let's roll." He lit a cigarette as he herded them outside, where Dean was in the driver's seat of a beat up hatch back, that looked like it had seen better days a millennia ago. Several duffle bags were on the back seat.

"Where do we sit?" Kelly eyed the backseat with annoyance.

"You guys will squeeze in, though I wouldn't be against Poppy sitting on my lap," Joey dropped a wink. Kelly rolled her eyes at Poppy, who shrugged in return, surprising Joey when she hoisted herself onto his lap when he sat down.

"Traitor," Kelly groaned as she sat on top of one of the duffel bags.

"Joey's lap is much more comfortable than guns," Poppy said.

"Be careful Kelly, if you discharge one of those guns with your fat ass we won't compensate what's left of you," Dean called over his shoulder.

Once Kelly had closed the door Dean reversed in a squeal of tires, scraping the side of the car on the concrete letter box without apology.

It was a short trip to an area of abandoned warehouses edged by unkempt grassland. Joey ghosted his hand down Poppy's waist as he helped her out of the car, dropping a charming grin between the the cigarette hanging from his lips.

Poppy returned the smile, biting her lip and staring a little too long into his eyes. She watched him visibly gulp and let a smirk cover her features when he turned away. She had seen such demonstrations on television and wanted to develop the skill.

Joey and Dean set them up laying inconspicuously in the grass directly in front of the front entrance to the warehouse. Kelly had a gun and a police siren that the boys must have stolen from a police car. Joey had said to turn it on if there was any trouble to scare away the trouble.

Quite a few hours passed, with various shady individuals coming and going without incident.

"Damn I should have asked for more – this is so boring," Kelly huffed as she turned on her back staring at the sky rather than the warehouse. The sounds of gun shot pierced the air, causing Kelly to squeal and Poppy to almost jump out of her skin. Kelly rolled onto her stomach and switched the siren on, the piercing wails adding to the chaos of noise.

Joey ran out of the warehouse, followed by Dean who was covered in blood and was gripping his shoulder. Each held a gun. They bolted towards Poppy and Kelly, shooting haphazardly over their shoulder at a group of men with guns also.

Poppy's heart flew into her throat, as the boys led the shooters straight towards them. She barely noticed Kelly shoot off a few bullets into the fray, as Poppy pushed herself up onto her knees to scramble out of the firing line before a sharp white hot burst of pain blasted through her head.

* * *

She remembered vaguely the sequence of events, the brief but horrible pain that rent through her skull, which was most probably a bullet, but somehow she didn't believe she would come to be standing at a train station.

The station itself was empty and whited out with fog like some sort of mystic plane of existence.

"You are not altogether incorrect, Poppy," came a voice from behind her.

Poppy turned swiftly, and came face to face with a man; a man who somehow appeared ageless.

He was the first man Poppy had met with such long hair – down past his shoulders in a waterfall of black, framing his green eyes – eyes very similar to her own, seemingly only different in that his were weary and worn. Those eyes watched her now with a gaze that made Poppy feel uncomfortable, a small tilt at his lips which didn't quite look like a smile.

He looked similar to other people that Poppy had met in her short life, in all the ways that seemed to matter, seemingly with all the proper parts, but there was something distinctly wrong and inhuman about him. She squinted her eyes, cataloguing his appearance in an attempt to distinguish what it was, but it slipped away from her just as she felt like she understood what it was. She did this until her head hurt and she looked away.

"You are much more of a danger magnet than I was," he murmured.

"I'm sorry mister but you are mistaken, I'm not a danger magnet, I'm just a good girl who goes to school and does her chores," she murmured taking a step back subconsciously.

He snorted, the sound jarring and unnatural from someone such as he.

"Say's she who steals library books and sells her cousin's possessions at school," he said, eyeing her.

Poppy stood straighter, dusting some imaginary lint off her clothes as if that would help her present better. "So are you some impoverished private investigator the Dursley's hired to make sure I behave? If I were doing what you so outrageously claim, I wouldn't admit to it - do you have some kind of proof?" she looked him up and down as if he were hiding some photographs somewhere in the old drapes he was wearing.

The man's lips tilted upwards slightly, though no mirth seemed to reach his cold eyes.

Poppy let out a frustrated sigh, "Look mister what do you want? Was it you who took me here?" Poppy took another look around, grimacing at the lack of familiarity.

"You have died and are currently in the in-between. You have three options; you could step on the train that awaits before you and go on to death in all its finality, you could wait in this unchanging place here as the ages of man continue on until the end of everything or you could return to your life. You have achieved this boon as somewhere in space and time you have become the master of the deathly hallows," he spoke quietly, a dangerous quality to his words. Standing beneath his great stare felt similar to what she imagined being confronted with a lion might feel like.

Poppy took a breath and asked, "So what is your name?" The man appeared slightly startled by the question. Poppy took a breath waiting for his response, but it seemed that he had never had a name, or had altogether too many to have become attached to one.

"I could call you Mister Death if you would like?" Poppy asked, rolling the word mister like some Boston criminal she had seen on television so that it sounded like 'mista'.

Mister Death frowned slightly, not immensely pleased at the name but not willing to engage in a debate with a ten-year-old girl.

"So Mister Death, is being the manager of the death department a busy job? It looks quite empty here," Poppy looked around, hands in her pockets. "Do you know the Dursley's? Well the big one – Vernon is his name – he's a manager of making drills and he says that the hardest part of his very important job is dealing with all the insubordination of the grunt men that do all the heavy labouring."

Mister Death didn't answer her question so Poppy moved forward with her train of thought. "What I was wanting to ask Mister Death, is if you happened to be after an erstwhile peon to do your grunt work for a modest hourly fee?" Poppy tried her most winning Colgate advertisement smile, which she had practiced for occasions such as this.

Mister Death sighed, "Poppy, death is an institution, hired help is not required and please avoid coming back here until you actually want to get on the train and out of my hair."

Poppy frowned, wondering where she went wrong with her proposition. With a directing hand on her shoulder Mister Death guided her to the exit of the station. Poppy turned to say that she would not get in Mister Death's enviable Sunsilk ambassador like locks, but everything faded away.

* * *

It was dark when Poppy awoke and she instantly realised she wasn't in her bed in Dudley's second room.

The metallic tang of blood and earthy scent of grass was heavy in the air. From the limited light of the full moon Poppy could see she was still lying in the field beside the warehouses.

She pulled herself to her feet and commenced the long walk home. When she reached an area with street lights she noticed that the neck and front of her shirt was dark with dried blood. Poppy continued home wondering why she was left behind.

Poppy climbed the trellis outside her window so as to not alert the dogs – aka Petunia or Vernon. When she turned on the light and looked in the mirror on the back of the door she cringed. Her face was smeared with blood, as was her shirt.

Most definitely dead then; for a while she had thought it was a dream.

* * *

Many thanks for the reviews! Tell me what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Poppy looked with interest at the news that had made a portion of the front page of the local paper.

' **Snake Stolen from Surrey Show** '.

 _Police are currently making enquiries into an exotic snake allegedly stolen from Joe Fox, a Carnie at the Surrey Annual Show._

 _The Snake in question is a non-venomous Opheodrys aestivus, otherwise known as a Rough Green Snake, that originates from South East Asia._

"Ah, so that's what you are," Poppy hummed, stroking the reptilian skin of the snake in question which was wrapped around her neck under a jumper and scarf.

"Talking to yourself again?" Vernon sneered as he made his way into the kitchen, moving to the place that Poppy had set up for him at the table.

He dragged the newspaper forward as he started to shovel oil sodden bacon and eggs into his mouth.

"No, I'm talking to the voices in my head. They keep telling me to do the darndest things," Poppy said slowly.

Vernon raised his eyes, the edges of the newspaper crumpling in his fists. "You know you don't fool me for a second with all your mind games, and one day I will see you kicked out, damned what those weirdos say!" he sneered, before snapping the newspaper out.

Poppy rolled her eyes before grabbing her back pack to start the walk to the bus stop.

These days Vernon kept dropping comments that Poppy would end up in the juvenile justice system by the time she was thirteen. Poppy would scoff and say that she was much too smart to ever get caught. Vernon in turn would scowl, clouting her over the back of the head.

If her relationship with the Dursley's had been bad before the 'Child Protection debacle', as Petunia referred to it, the relationship was now closer to the tensions between Russia and the US during the Cold War.

Dudley, picking up on his parents increased animosity towards his cousin, took it as permission to beat her up whenever he could.

Poppy had then commented to Vernon and Petunia that the bruises provided by Dudley may raise concerns with Child Protection. Dudley had gotten rather imaginative with his corporal punishment schemes after that. More imaginative than Poppy ever gave him credit of having the brain cells to be.

Poppy had been two months away from turning eleven when she met up with Mister Death again.

"We have to stop meeting like this Mister Death!" she said as a greeting, as she took a seat next to him on the bench at the train station, ensuring she rolled the suffix like a proper Boston Crim.

Death looked over to her as if unsurprised. "Aren't you just a regular death magnet – what happened this time?

"Dudley accidentally drowned me in a bucket of water I think," she shrugged.

Death looked at her sharply, assessing her countenance as if it held a deep mystery.

"I never would have taken Dudley for a murderer," Death spoke softly, his voice gravelly, his thoughts obviously far away.

"I think he just got a little overzealous with my corporal punishment. Dudley seems to like inflicting pain and misery, but I don't think he would do too well in the prison system, what with the strict food rations and bigger nastier fish in the pond. They would make him their bitch before he could claim a bunk."

Death choked, his eyebrows raised, "What would you know about prison?"

"Plenty, I've been raised by the TV," she grinned wolfishly.

"I wouldn't think the Dursley's would let you watch a whole lot of TV," Death frowned.

"They don't, I normally watch it from the stairs or when they go to bed. Wouldn't you know Vernon really enjoys adult movies, especially the ones with threesomes food fetishes."

Death had looked a strange mixture of queasy and alarmed and Poppy had found him dull conversation after that.

* * *

Poppy found she liked Death and counted him as the only interesting and worthwhile person in her otherwise monotonous life.

And then everything changed, with the delivery of a letter. Poppy had grabbed the stack from the front entrance, and it was only by chance that she had noticed her own name in eloquent script on the front of a crisp envelope mixed in between the bills and mountains of shopping catalogues that Petunia was always subscribing to. With reflexes and stealth born from a lifetime of defensive and criminal tendencies, she shoved the envelope down her pants just as Dudley rounded the corner, eyeing her up and down with malice, like a walking overfed shark.

She dumped the letters in the middle of the table and walked leisurely up the stairs, tearing open the letter once she got the door closed.

 _ **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme_

 _Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Miss Potter,_

 _We are Pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

Poppy probably read and re-read the letter and attached list of stationary and supplies thirty or so times, not able to believe it, but hoping all the same that it was true.

But was it not a possibility? Nothing on television noted that people could talk to snakes, and yet she could have intelligent and sentient conversations with her own. Also people didn't report coming back from death the way she did. She had always thought she was _different_.

 _"Do you think I could be a witch, Viper?"_ Poppy asked her green companion, who was wrapped loosely around her neck under her jumper and scarf, seemingly her favourite place.

 _"I have heard whisperings of magic during my travels, and I taste it on your skin, Enchantress."_

Poppy had a long-term love of comic books, with a deep fascination for the comic book villains especially. So she had named her snake Madame Viper, who was the leader of Hydra and enemy of Captain America and SHIELD.

When Viper had asked what she should call her human, Poppy had given herself the nickname Enchantress after her favourite character from the Thor series.

Enchantress was an Asgardian sorceress, banished from Asgard for her undisciplined use of her magic when she was young. Enchantress trained herself in the ways of magic by seducing other sorcerers and forcing them to reveal their ancient secrets to her, eventually becoming the most powerful sorceress in all of Asgard and Thor's biggest foe.

That night Poppy, with the help of Viper's superior night time vision, gallivanted around the neighbourhood, climbing trees trying to find an owl. It turned out that finding an owl wasn't the hardest part, it was catching it.

 _"Let me catch one Enchantress, they are no more than fat flying rodents,"_ Viper hissed.

 _"Will it come back to me alive?"_ Poppy frowned, getting fed up.

 _"More or less, if not a bit chewed on,"_ Viper hissed, as she slid away into the grass. Poppy kept her distance.

What Viper eventually brought back caught within her fanged maw, struggling weakly, with crooked wings probably wasn't fit to return correspondence to a letterbox next door let alone whatever mystical plan this magical school existed in.

With thin lips Poppy took the half dead bird up to her room and wrapped it up in blankets with water near it. Watching the injured bird, she came up with her next plan, wondering why she hadn't first thought of it. Glancing at the clock, noting that it was 2am, she wrapped Viper around her neck again.

Poppy went out back to the small garden shed where Vernon kept all his old tools that he had brought but never used because he hired a gardener.

 _"What are you doing Enchantress?"_ Viper asked as Poppy weighed up the machete, which was dull and rusty from neglect. Poppy didn't know why Vernon had thought to buy a machete, as the shrubs and bushes edging their property was no dense jungle that needed to be cut away. Maybe he had brought it to do away with her, Poppy thought with a quirk of her lips, as she found the tool sharpener and started on her quest.

 _"I'm going to go visit Death,"_ Poppy shrugged, moving Viper down to her chest away from her throat before taking a seat against the wall. _"Bonvoyage."_

" _I thought you didn't have any human friends,"_ was the last words Poppy heard from her pet snake, as she put her plan into action.

Poppy found that non-spontaneous death was much more grisly than it being sprung on her unexpectedly. Poppy hoped that Death appreciated the gesture of her visiting him, it was more than just a trivial drive to the next suburb over.

"I tried to bring you a hot chocolate but it didn't pass over with me," Poppy lied as she sat beside Death.

"So what happened this time?" Death asked warily.

"Well you see I don't really like people, but you have achieved the great honour of being one of the few individuals, other than my pet snake, that I can stand," Poppy smiled prettily as if she had bestowed a great compliment.

"So your visit was premeditated?" Death asked in a monotone.

"Don't sound so glum, Death, from the slow pace of the station it doesn't look like you have the privilege of being finicky about company," she smirked.

Death gave a world weary sigh.

"So I got a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it's asking for a reply via owl post and though I tried to commandeer an owl, it seems they are hard to catch without damaging their fragile wings –"

Death moved to look at her so quickly he got whiplash, "how did you get the letter off Dudley?" he asked.

"Er, I just didn't let him get it in the first place, which is easy as he's as slow as a mule," Poppy shrugged.

"Things have happened differently from the start," Death frowned. Poppy cocked her head in confusion at his strange words. "You don't need to send a letter as Hogwarts will send a representative named Hagrid to give your response and take you to buy your supplies; make sure you be nice to him, you will very much need his friendship in the future," Death practically growled.

Poppy raised her hands in the air mockingly, "it's like you don't trust me to be a decent human being".

At Death's severe look Poppy chuckled, "don't worry I will be er _nice_ to this Hagrid – I wouldn't be so stupid as to disregard your omniscient knowledge."

Poppy dropped a charming grin as she stood from the seat, "well it was lovely catching up, we should do this again – maybe I'll try to sneak a brownie across the great divide next time, it looks like you could do with a good dose of endorphins!"

* * *

 **Read and Review!**


End file.
